


iii; Fame

by Theo_Thaur



Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison Hargreeves-centric, Allison-centric, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Gen, Kidnapping, NONE of the other Hargreeves will be visiting today, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 01, Reginald being a dick again, Whump, Whumptober 2020, god I already miss writing family dynamics, the Allison-central fic nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur
Summary: Whumptober 2020 submission. "No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY": Manhandled, Forced to their Knees, Held at Gunpoint------Following the release of her newest film and an older divorce, Allison is approached by a persistent tabloid 'journalist'.
Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234
Kudos: 7
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	iii; Fame

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGERS: kidnapping, gun usage, drugging, mild rape undertones/power imbalance between a kidnapped woman and a man, implied stalking/obsession, implied PTSD, needle use.

_ iii; Fame _

Allison sat down lightly on a bench, at the edge of a park. She had her sunshades on, dressed rather nicely for just a stroll around the block. She was soaking up the last few scattered warm days she could expect in October before winter came. Children played with friends, a few college students threw around a frisbee, parents chatted amicably.

_ At least the tabloids have calmed down _ \--that was her mantra, the only thing she could really hold onto as a sign that things were getting better. The divorce was supposed to have been private, and respectful, but the last thing reporters wanted was a story where both parties acted like mature adults. Magazines speculated, as they always did, pushing the line and trying to break a story. But Allison knew better, she stuck to her story as best as she could. Things had still slipped through the cracks, Patrick's family gossiped and of course Allison had her own history tore open and re-examined. It was easy to feel like she was alone, because she really was. She had her fans, her assistants, and emails of scripts to comb through, but it wasn't the same. Patrick had been her muse, her rock. But living in the public eye was all about putting on a hard face and shoving past all of that; it was how you treated bullies, or  _ attackers _ , in the case of the teachings from her upbringing. You couldn't let them know they'd hurt you, if you gave up an inch they'd step all over you. So she played the game, even when a part of her had wanted to take a break from the business, she needed to remind them of who she was, rather than who she'd been during her time in the academy manipulating others with her powers. She was Allison Hargreeves the movie star, draped in nice clothes and perfume,  _ not  _ Allison Hargreeves the girl who wore scratchy plaid, and had to stand on her tip-toes to whisper into the ears of adults. 

That was why she'd clamored to get into as many sets as possible, and the gamble had worked; the public had been ready to move on because she acted like she didn't care. Next time she'd just include a NDA in the prenups, if there was a next time. Because the truth was, Allison could be happy as an actress, when she held herself to it. She liked sinking her teeth into a role, trying to discern the feelings of her character and explore their life. She liked knowing how the story would end, the sense of control that gave her.

_ "Number Three," Reginald said, his voice as unforgiving as usual, and yet, she still felt as if she wanted to curl in on herself. They were in his office, Grace had escorted her there quietly after dinner. _

_ "Yes father?" She replied, running over an increasingly familiar checklist in her head: straight posture, focused vision, eye contact, slow breathing. _

_ "Did you rumor Number Four into forgetting the occurrences of last week's individual training?" She frowned, furrowing her brow, but reminded herself to be careful and not react not too much… _

_ "No, I did not sir," she answered steadily. But was that the right answer? She started to wonder if she should take the fall, because she knew she was lying. Klaus had asked and Allison had provided, it was the least she could've done. He'd had a terrified look in his eyes when he came to her, ashamed and defeated but most of all tired. Allison had watched him go quiet several mealtimes within the last month, his eyes glossing over, until he wiggled his fingers slowly, and picked up his fork again. Sometimes Diego kicked him under the table. Other times Reginald would yell for him to not waste his food, an interaction that usually made Klaus jump. Reginald eyed her carefully, and Allison stayed still so that he couldn't try and decide anything from her body language.  _

_ "I see. Number Four's forgetfulness must be accounted for separately, in that case. Please inform him that he will now be waking at three a.m. every morning for a week, as that is when spirits are supposedly most active. Tell him to report to our usual location, and ensure he sets an alarm," Allison's eyes widened, but it was too late to go back. She nodded. "Get ready for bed, then," he dismissed. Allison turned to leave the office, but couldn't bring herself to it.  _

_ She moved back to face him, and Reginald looked up at her from his ornate desk, seeming a little annoyed she was still there. "I rumored Number Four, please don't punish him sir." Reginald sighed quietly, he sounded disappointed, but nodded. He slid open a drawer of the oak desk, pulling out a leather notebook and flipping open through pages of neatly written notes. He took out a pen, adding a small footnote to one methodically selected page, before shutting the book and putting it back into the drawer. He closed the drawer and tucked the pen away, only then looking back up at Allison. _

_ "I take from that, that you successfully rumored one of your siblings," Reginald said, being less cryptic than usual. "Very interesting. Now prepare for sleep. And pass along the information to Number Four. The alarm is important. It should be set at least fifteen minutes ahead of time so that he is well-kempt." _

_ "But he forgot what happened in his training because of me, I thought tha--"  _

_ "I didn't ask. Do as I said, Number Three." Reginald looked to Grace, making a shooing gesture with his hand. Grace put her hand gently on Allison's shoulder, urging her to leave. Allison did so, begrudgingly. _

Allison snapped back into reality, a hand touching her shoulder. She shifted away from the touch, looking up at a man she didn't recognize. "Sorry, sorry my bad. I thought you heard me coming," the man said. "I'm a journalist? I work for  _ Stars Weekly. _ If you have a moment, I'd love to talk." Allison forced on a sweet smile, but shook her head.

"I was just leaving, sorry."

"Oh! Totally fine, perfect actually," he waved a hand, and Allison stood up, thinking she was about to get off the hook. "I can be just leaving, too." Her smile nearly slipped. The journalist --if he could even be called that--, knew what he was doing, knew that he was twisting her arm. At least he hadn't been recording her from the get-go, as far as she could tell. Even so if she left she could be painted as cold and detached.

"Okay. Just a few minutes, I have to get back home soon," she said, which wasn't exactly true, but there were definitely better things she could spend her time on instead of talking to the tabloids.

"Of course. You're a busy woman." Allison began walking, weary of taking the reporter exactly to her house for obvious reasons. They were a few minutes away, she estimated she could cut him off a little early and still have to not endure a terribly long interview, because her house wasn't far. "In your recent movie with Sandra Bullock, did you have any scenes that were particularly interesting to film together?" The journalist didn't waste much time before getting into the questions.

They'd gone over several different topics, mostly about her recent film telling the story of two teachers teaming up to rob a bank. That conversation was fairly normal, and put her at ease. Until one question about if she was seeing anyone new. Thankfully, her home wasn't too far, so she had an out. "This is where I'm going to have to say goodbye," she asserted firmly, but being purposefully not too harsh. His face fell. 

"That's not true, your house is at  _ least _ two minutes away still," he answered. It made her uncomfortable that he acted like he knew, and more uncomfortable that he was right. She laughed, trying to not sound too awkward or nervous. 

"That's right. But," she tried to figure out how to say it, "I've had some bad experiences of being followed home." Allison knew he was a reporter and so it was his job to be an invasive as tick, but that didn't change anything.

"Hey, hey, no bad experiences here," he held his hands up in surrender, laughing and not at all talking to her seriously. Allison tried to push past, but only got a step or two forward before a hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, yanking her backward. 

"Let me go," Allison said, her voice a little harsher, a little less measured. She looked around, but all there was in the area were long driveways and larger houses. She'd moved into a quieter neighborhood two years ago, and although she still preferred a small apartment in the city over a house more into the suburbs --she thought hers was too big and not nearly home-y enough-- , it had given her a sense of privacy. One that she was now realizing put her in danger. She should've stayed in the park, where there were more people. 

"I can't do that Allison Hargreeves, I don't think I'll ever have a chance like this again." He sighed, before adding, "I was hoping we'd get to your house, but I can make do. Just wish I'd parked closer," he laughed. Allison tried to wriggle out of his grasp, turning back to face him and using her free arm to punch him in the side of the head. He managed to dodge it, her aim having already been thrown off slightly because he'd taken away her dominant hand. She was right-handed, so it could've been a mistake, but she had a feeling it wasn't. Allison was let go of, but only long enough for a hand to wrap around her throat. She cried out, or rather tried to, her mouth gaping open as her hands scrambled to pry his hand off. It was of no use, the room was beginning to spin and she hardly felt the prick as a needle was sunk into her arm. 

\------*´｡*ﾟ

Allison woke up on the floor of an unfamiliar room, no bigger than her walk-in closet. The carpet, close-cropped and at least twenty years old, was rough against her skin. The blinds had been drawn, though no sunlight filtered through them at all. A door stood five or six feet away, the light had been left on but it only hurt her eyes. She tried to prop herself up, a thick fog over her mind. Forcing herself onto her elbows, her body wobbled beneath her, before collapsing. She tried again, but could support herself for only a fraction of the first time. Allison fell back into her earlier position sprawled on the floor, chest heaving. The only thing that gave her even a remote sense of bodily was surrendering, staying down on the ground. But the last thing she wanted to do was be still and docile. Allison tried to keep track of the space around her, only because being as aware as possible gave her some slight sense of control. Was there a slight draft coming in, or was just that the numbness of her skin? She realized her arm still stung, the events that had lead to her capture coming back to mind. Someone would have to notice that she was missing, right? She lived alone, and even with her agent keeping frequent contact, there was no telling how long it would be before anyone went looking specifically for her. Allison hadn't had any significant events planned, and was between projects. Would Patrick be able to put the pieces together if she didn't call asking about Claire for a week or two? And even if someone did realize she was missing, there was no way of knowing if she'd ever be found. Suddenly overcome with grief, Allison tried to open her mouth to scream, but she couldn't. It had been taped over, rendering her silent --rendering her power useless. She cried softly, shifting a little, but only able to bring her knees closer to her chest.

Allison had heard stories about celebrities she lossely knew being stalked and put into danger during a life in the public eye, but they'd always just been stories. It was so much more removed to hear about stories, her time at the Umbrella Academy had dulled that fear as well. Reginald had always warned of one impending danger after the other, but back then she'd always overcome the serious threats as a  _ team _ . All of that training, the sacrifices to try and hold the family together --because there was safety in  _ numbers _ \--, and she'd ended up crumpled on the floor of a stranger's house. Time passed slowly, in a haze that Allison couldn't measure with any certainty. She gave up her previous effort to make notes on the surroundings, if she was going to rot there then it didn't matter whether the walls were white or pale yellow. 

Eventually, the door creaked open. She stared up, blankly at him. Her arm had started hurting at some point where it had been injected. "Well, you're a bit of a late riser," he commented, her eyes finally moved to notice the gun tucked into his belt. Allison shook her head slowly, glad the tears in her eyes kept her from getting too clear of a look at that vile face. It'd already made such an imprint in her mind that she wouldn't forget it if she ever got out, not even if she'd wanted to forget. Allison just didn't need the current reminder of her incapacitation, and would take any chance she could to block it out. "Stop crying, your eyes are going to get all red if you're not careful," he said abruptly, voice surprisingly harsh, like he was offended. Allison sniffed, trying to blink it away. He crouched beside her, form still as intimidating as he had been while standing over her, but  _ closer _ . Allison tried to move away as he reached a hand out, not getting more than an inch or so. He cast a shadow over her, blocking out some of the overhead lighting. "Come on. Get up. I know you're not really that tired, I was careful about how much curare I used." He ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. His hand stilled as he looked at her expectantly. To her credit, Allison tried to move, and found she had more control over her limbs than earlier, but not enough. He brought his hand away, which had cradled her face in a repulsively sympathetic way, but was then going ridgid. He struck Allison across the face, her cheek stung as he pulled away. She had no choice but to lay there and take it. 

He took a fistful of her hair, yanking it up; the pain jolted her, that and the slap giving Allison a stronger feeling of urgency. She wedged her elbow against the floor, folding her legs in. Allison was briefly not able to support herself as she tucked her legs underneath herself and hauled her torso upright, which was more difficult than she'd expected. Every joint was stiff, but she made it work, clawing the carpet slightly in the process. "Like a newborn doe," he murmured, which made Allison feel sick. She'd only just been able to kneel, sitting on her heels at that. His amusement didn't last. He reached for the gun, cocking it. "Get  _ up _ , I said. Don't you understand? You've read through stage directions before." He laughed, which left Allison unsure of where they stood, until his expression darkened and he pressed the gun against her forehead. She tried to do as he ordered, the gun was cold and foreboding against her skin. "Come on Allison, this has never been a problem for you before, you've done so many  _ great things _ . Make this work for me," he pleaded, standing up and pulling the gun away, to gesture freely with his hands as he spoke. It was like trying to write with just a sheet of paper, and she grit her teeth, managing to get to one knee. A brief success, until she found that it was unsteady under her weight. "Why are you being so useless?" He asked angrily, but also sounding deeply hurt. He aimed up his gun low, shooting her in the thigh that had been trembling to sustain her, and she fell over onto her side, the blow to her jaw and ribs only being somewhat softened by carpet that chafed at her lip. Allison blinked, trying to stay aware as the drug in her system mixed with her body's own reactions to being shot, which resulted in a deep stabbing pain that let her feel the specific area it had occurred in. It was a point lit up bright and sensitive on a roadmap of half-numbed skin. She opened her mouth, letting a pained gasp out that travelled across the room. Allison was frozen for a moment, before realizing that the forceful impact and slide onto the floor had peeled away a portion of the tape on her face. The tape wasn't even half-removed, when she exhaled it whistled and blew at the loose flap. Still. She took as deep of a breath as she could. 

"I heard a rumor that you dropped your gun."


End file.
